just a temporary fix
by markedandtied
Summary: She's sick of waiting. Waiting to do what's expected of her. Waiting to be predictable. Waiting to be what everyone else wants. And for him, she's not going to wait—he's the only person who wouldn't expect her to.


**title: **just a temporary fix

**notes: **set after stefan attempts to leave mystic falls, roughly 1.08. not beta'd.

_you should know that you're __**just a temporary fix**__. this is not rooted with you, it don't mean that much to me. you're just a filler in the space that happened to be free. _

Elena knows she shouldn't be here.

The night wraps around her, rendering her lengthy, dark tresses and tanned skin nearly invisible. The door to the Salvatore boardinghouse looms in front of her—a challenge. The expansive entranceway is daring her not to knock, waging a bet against her resolve. She raises a (barely, nearly imperceptibly shaking) hand and raps twice on the door.

Even as she stands listening to her knock echo (not that she needed to bother—_he_ could've sensed her without her making a move), she keeps thinking to herself she should not have come. The feeling of weightlessness in her stomach is consistent with the thickly pumping adrenaline in her veins; she just isn't sure if it's from fear or something else entirely.

Elena had dug through her mind and this was the only place she could come up with. The place where she thought she might feel as though she belonged, might maintain a semblance of her sanity instead of giving way to the ache in her chest. Stefan had said he was leaving and no amount of pleading from her could sway him. And some part of her knows what she's doing would hurt him, but she doesn't even give a damn. In fact, she intends for it to.

The door opens to reveal a figure bathed in amber light. She's more familiar with his features than she should be: the shock of black hair, the strongly set jaw, the lean body, and the endlessly blue eyes.

"Elena," he announces, stretching out her name as the smirk turns up the corners of his mouth. Elena could tell the moment it changed from amusement to intent; the glint in his eyes always gave him away. "I'm surprised he didn't tell you," he notes simply, with a mock sense of confusion playing in the tone of his voice.

"Tell me what?" She plays along because she knows he wants her to.

"Stefy's not here." His face gives way to sympathy for only the briefest second before the signature smile is back. "Looks like you're out of luck."

"I didn't come here for Stefan."

The words are out before she can stop them. They make her sound much more confidant than she really is. But, didn't he always like that in her?

"Then what, may I ask, did you come here to find?"

The mischievous gleam has sprung into his eyes, and with that smirk across his lips, she has to fight the weakness in her knees.

"If you haven't figured it out already, you're not the man I thought you were, Damon Salvatore," she notes dryly, stepping over the threshold past his body as if he wasn't even there.

She takes several careful, deliberate steps through the foyer, slipping her leather jacket off her shoulders as she moves and letting it fall onto the hardwood floors. The sound of the door is already a distant echo as she feels his cool hands on the tops of her shoulders.

"I'm not someone to play games with, Elena," he warns, his lips brushing her ear and his breath stirring the wisps of hair around it.

A shiver runs down her spine, and she contests that it's entirely related to the threat embodied in his words. After all, she's not here _for _him. She's here for herself; she's here because she needs to do this. Because she needs something dangerous, something bad for her, something that makes her feel excited and afraid and alive all at once. And he's the one person who's always been able to give that to her, whether she wanted it at the time or not.

"That's funny," she responds with heavy sarcasm, "you always seemed to _love_ playing games with me." She takes a step forward, freeing his grip on her, and turns on her heel to face him. "In fact, if it wasn't for _dear Stefan_, I'm positive that it wouldn't have been just games you were playing with me." She raises her eyebrows in a challenge, knowing she shouldn't antagonize him but feeling a fire rise within her all the same.

"Are you suggesting something here, Elena?" he teases back, his smirk growing more devilish with the words.

"I think I'm doing _far_ more than suggesting, Damon, or haven't you noticed yet?"

He closed the few feet between them in a fraction of a second—a speed that should frighten her with how inhuman it is, but all she finds is that she's exhilarated. He grabs her roughly around the waist, never gentle like the other Salvatore brother, but Elena knows that's exactly what she wanted.

"Didn't I tell you not to play games with me? You're _really_ not a quick learner." He grins wickedly down at her in a way, she supposed, should be frightening. Logically, of course. She knew what he was and that he could take this moment to kill her effortlessly. And yet, she walked knowingly into his house and encouraged this side of him.

It wasn't the way Elena Gilbert was supposed to act—the intelligent, composed, beautiful Elena Gilbert. The one everyone saw her as, but she knew she never exactly lived up to—whether they noticed or not. That Elena Gilbert would've known better than to put herself in this situation. But, that Elena Gilbert wasn't who she was: not who she ever was going to be and not even who she _wished_ she could be. That Elena Gilbert was a distant memory, who paled in comparison to the fiery, willful Elena Gilbert smirking fearlessly up at the older Salvatore brother.

"Then teach me," she tells him.

"And what do you think my brother would say to you making that proposition?" Damon shoots back, although he makes absolutely no move to take his hands off her body.

"Since when has it ever mattered to you what your brother thought?" Elena counters. "As I recall, _you're_ the one who tried to seduce _me_," she points out suggestively, remembering that night in the parking lot after the football game where he'd attempted to kiss her.

"And, as I recall," he began, matching her tone, "it didn't work."

"Then maybe I'm better at it than you are," she points out boldly, and doesn't wait for an answer in return. Elena moves a hand to his neck, pulling him nearer to her while she rises to close the gap, her lips crashing against his.

She's sick of waiting. Waiting to do what's expected of her. Waiting to be predictable. Waiting to be what everyone else wants. And for him, she's not going to wait—he's the only person who wouldn't expect her to.

In this moment, Elena isn't sure what she should expect; then again, Damon Salvatore has never been someone who's easy to anticipate. The recklessness of her decision is almost freeing to Elena. Then all at once, Damon's lips are moving against hers with a practiced ease, deepening the kiss, and the hand at her waist is pulling her even closer while his daring fingers are playing at the hem of her shirt. His touch, his smell, his lips are all a sensory overload. He is begging her for a response; for her to be scared of this overwhelming experience he has, but Elena cannot do anything but give in to her senses. The heady sensation swimming in her mind defies all logic and slowly, her hand moves to his chest. She clutches at the material of his shirt, pulling him with her as she slowly steps backward toward the staircase leading to the bedrooms of the Salvatore boardinghouse.

Quickly, the situation that Elena only imagined on the drive over is flooding into reality, as Damon forcefully presses her against the wall flanking the stairs. Elena's heart hammers, a fear slowly stealing in while his hands slide up from her waist, pulling her shirt over her head and leaving it to be forgotten at the base of the stairs. His mouth travels to her neck and Elena whimpers quietly. She moves her hand from his neck, finding a steadying hold against his shoulder and gently pushes against him to allow herself some distance.

"Damon," she murmurs, "Damon—wait."

As he pulls back just slightly, enough to allow them a few inches breadth, she sees a face that isn't the handsome one she knows. But even this Damon, she realizes, holds some insatiable allure—a craving for something so much more carnal than just blood. His gaze is piercing, but almost seems to soften at the uncertainty playing across her features. The bloodlust is still in his eyes though, and Elena's pulse quickens; a further temptation to him, she's sure, although she can't help the reaction.

"I—I've never done this before," she admits, her uncertainty and inexperience laid out. Her confidence slowly wavers as she finds herself facing something she's entirely unprepared for. She feels so vulnerable and exposed, half expecting him to use that against her in the next second.

Instead, Damon smirks at her in that seductive, yet self-assured way. He leans in, his lips at Elena's ear. "Don't worry," he assures her, while his fingers begin to trail across her exposed skin. She feels his hand resting at her neck, where his thumb lightly grazes her lips, before it slides down to her shoulder. "I have." His skilled fingers brush the strap of her bra off her shoulder.

"Teach me?" Elena asks coyly, recalling her words from earlier that night.

His cheek is pressed to hers and she can feel the smirk stealing across his face, the light scruff grazing her skin. "Of course."

Gently, his lips return to her neck, and Elena groans softly, her fingers pawing at the nape of his neck again. His mouth returns to hers for just a second and all too soon it's gone, as Damon backs up a pace. The hand at Elena's shoulder slides down her arm, until he takes hold of her hand and pulls her up the staircase with him. It only takes until they reach the top for Elena to close the distance and press her lips to Damon's again. Her arms are entwined around his neck, but as the kiss deepens, they slip down to his chest where she begins to undo his black button-down. After deftly unfastening each, she slides the shirt off his shoulders and lets it fall to floor.

Damon kisses her harder, the hand at the small of her back keeping them from careening backwards down the stairs once more. Elena's hands begin to travel across his bare chest, and she can feel his lips curving into a smile underneath hers. "This time, I might just have to take it back," he notes mischievously.

"Mmm, take what?" she questions him in between kisses.

"You _are_ a quick learner."

"Or maybe I've got a good teacher?"

"Elena, _that_ is not even in question," he replies confidently while they slowly make their way down the hallway, bodies thrown up against walls every few feet and hands roaming, until they hit the bedroom door.

At that one moment, Damon gives pause; he raises an eyebrow at her, and somehow Elena knows this is her opportunity to turn back. To apologize to Damon, collect her clothes, and exit the house with a small amount of dignity still in tact. But with Damon's body pressed up against hers, and his lips hovering so close that all she wants to do is press her mouth against them again, why the fuck would she bother?

Elena turns the handle behind her and in a matter of seconds, her back hits the sheets and Damon's body is hovering above hers. She bites her lip, eyeing him as she waits for him to make the next move. Slowly, his mouth descends on hers and the kiss is soft, gentle—everything their previous exchanges haven't been. Then, she can feel his knee moving to part her thighs before his fingers tangle in her hair, brushing it aside, and his teeth find the soft curve of her neck.


End file.
